Recovery Read Online Free PDF Page A

cornered I fight like a man.”
    “You have a great right hook?” I asked, almost laughing.
    She didn’t even crack a smile. “No. I have a great network of informants that gives me everything I need to take out any challengers to my position.”
    “Informants?”
    The elevator doors opened before us.
    “What do you think secretaries are for?” She laughed, appearing amused at my naiveté. “And considering most of them are women, they are more than happy to share any little tidbits of information that can help me put some degenerate executive in his place.” She stepped from the elevator. “How in the hell do you think I got this job anyway?”
    “And I thought I came from a ruthless town,” I mumbled, suddenly feeling homesick for the simplistic backstabbing of New Orleans society.
    The party was at another hotel and held in one of the facility’s numerous generic ballrooms. As soon as Dora and I entered the grand façade of the gold-painted room, it was obvious that this was an event to not only showcase the writers, but the entire Hamper Publishing franchise.
    Dashing eagerly amid plastic Christmas trees were waitstaff dressed as elves trying to appease the small mob of over two hundred guests. I immediately spotted authors whose books I had grown up reading waiting in long lines to get to the buffet tables scattered about the room. Two bars decorated to resemble reindeer-powered sleds were located strategically in the center of the room next to a seven-foot-high champagne fountain. There was even a jolly fat man in a red suit going around handing out presents from a round red bag.
    As we descended the holly-draped staircase to the ballroom floor, Dora turned to me.
    “You’re going to be a hit tonight, kiddo,” Dora whispered. She watched many of the men in the room follow my descent down the stairs with their hungry eyes. “Just keep smiling, showing the cleavage, and telling them the title of your book.”
    I stepped nervously onto the grand ballroom floor. My body trembled as I fought to keep all the chaos raging inside of me hidden behind my fake smile.
    A waiter dressed in green tights and a red hat approached and handed Dora and me each a glass of champagne. A wave of relief flowed through me as I looked down into the cool gold liquid. I had desperately needed something to help get me through the night, having restrained myself from prying open the minibar in my hotel room earlier in the day. I had not even taken the first sip from my glass when Dora’s hand suddenly reached up and touched my arm.
    “You’ll need your wits about you. Keep that same glass with you this entire evening. You can get drunk after we get out of here.”
    She took my arm and began expertly maneuvering me through the black-tie crowd. The first person she ushered me toward was old Harold Hamper himself, president and CEO of Hamper Publishing.
    The wizened, gray-haired executive was dressed in all his Armani finery. He looked thin yet sophisticated at first glance, but one could tell on closer inspection that his bearing more closely resembled a wily horse trader than a top New York executive.
    I grimaced to myself as the CEO’s pale green eyes flickered with delight when I was pushed unceremoniously before him.
    “Mr. Hamper,” Dora began, smiling at her boss, “you remember Nicole Beauvoir, author of Painting Jenny .”
    The man extended a surprisingly strong arm to me and gripped my hand firmly while his eyes hungrily looked my figure up and down.
    An instant dislike for the publishing magnate settled over me like a dense fog.
    “Ah, yes, the story of David Alexander.” Mr. Hamper paused. “And you were his Jenny.”
    I tried to pull my hand away from his. “Yes, I was David’s model.”
    “When we first heard about your story, I immediately instructed my people to make you an offer you could not refuse,” he said as he let go of my hand.
    I raised my eyebrows to him. “Your people called me before I had even